Act IV, Scene viii: Before King Henry's pavilion. | WILLIAMS: | | I warrant it is to knight you, Captain. |
| FLUELLEN: | | God's will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, | | come apace to the King. There is more good toward you | | peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of. |
| WILLIAMS: | | Sir, know you this glove? |
| FLUELLEN: | | Know the glove! I know the glove is a glove. |
| WILLIAMS: | | I know this; and thus I challenge it. |
| FLUELLEN: | | 'Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the universal | | world, or in France, or in England! |
| GOWER: | | How now, sir! you villain! |
| WILLIAMS: | | Do you think I'll be forsworn? |
| FLUELLEN: | | Stand away, Captain Gower. I will give treason his | | payment into plows, I warrant you. |
| WILLIAMS: | | I am no traitor. |
| FLUELLEN: | | That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty's | | name, apprehend him; he's a friend of the Duke Alencon's. |
| WARWICK: | | How now, how now! what's the matter? |
| FLUELLEN: | | My lord of Warwick, here is—praised be God for it!—a most | | contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall | | desire in a summer's day. Here is his Majesty. |
| [Enter King Henry and Exeter.] |
| KING HENRY: | | How now! what's the matter? |
| FLUELLEN: | | My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your Grace, |
| has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the | | helmet of Alencon. |
| WILLIAMS: | | My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he | | that I gave it to in change promis'd to wear it in his cap. I | | promis'd to strike him, if he did. I met this man with my | | glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word. |
| FLUELLEN: | | Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood, | | what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope | | your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will | | avouchment, that this is the glove of Alencon that your | | Majesty is give me; in your conscience, now? |
| KING HENRY: | | Give me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the fellow of it. | | 'Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike; | | And thou hast given me most bitter terms. |
| FLUELLEN: | | An it please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if | | there is any martial law in the world. |
| KING HENRY: | | How canst thou make me satisfaction? |
| WILLIAMS: | | All offences, my lord, come from the heart. Never came | | any from mine that might offend your Majesty. |
| KING HENRY: | | It was ourself thou didst abuse. |
| WILLIAMS: | | Your Majesty came not like yourself. You appear'd to me | | but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your | | lowliness; and what your Highness suffer'd under that shape, I | | beseech you take it for your own fault and not mine; for had you | | been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech | | your Highness, pardon me. |
| KING HENRY: | | Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, | | And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow; | | And wear it for an honour in thy cap | | Till I do challenge it. Give him his crowns; | | And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. |
| FLUELLEN: | | By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his | | belly. Hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to | | serve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and | | quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better | | for you. |
| WILLIAMS: | | I will none of your money. |
| FLUELLEN: | | It is with a good will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend | | your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your | | shoes is not so good. 'Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I | | will change it. |
| [Enter [an English]Herald.] |
| KING HENRY: | | Now, herald, are the dead numb'red? |
| HERALD: | | Here is the number of the slaught'red French. |
| KING HENRY: | | What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle? |
| EXETER: | | Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King; | | John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt: | | Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, | | Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. |
| KING HENRY: | | This note doth tell me of ten thousand French | | That in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number, | | And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead | | One hundred twenty-six; added to these, | | Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, | | Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, | | Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights; | | So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, | | There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; | | The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, | | And gentlemen of blood and quality. | | The names of those their nobles that lie dead: | | Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; | | Jacques of Chatillon, Admiral of France; | | The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures; | | Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin, | | John Duke of Alencon, Anthony Duke of Brabant, | | The brother to the Duke of Burgundy, | | And Edward Duke of Bar; of lusty earls, | | Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, | | Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale. | | Here was a royal fellowship of death! | | Where is the number of our English dead? |
| [Herald shows him another paper.] |
| Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, | | Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire; | | None else of name; and of all other men | | But five and twenty.—O God, thy arm was here; | | And not to us, but to thy arm alone, | | Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem, | | But in plain shock and even play of battle, | | Was ever known so great and little loss | | On one part and on the other? Take it, God, | | For it is none but thine! |
| KING HENRY: | | Come, go we in procession to the village; | | And be it death proclaimed through our host | | To boast of this or take that praise from God | | Which is His only. |
| FLUELLEN: | | Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how | | many is kill'd? |
| KING HENRY: | | Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment, | | That God fought for us. |
| FLUELLEN: | | Yes, my conscience, He did us great good. |
| KING HENRY: | | Do we all holy rites. | | Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum, | | The dead with charity enclos'd in clay, | | And then to Calais; and to England then, | | Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. |
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